Moments Like This
by Bellum Gerere
Summary: A collection of prompt fills, mostly from tumblr. The chapters don't go together unless I state otherwise, and I'll be updating the tags/characters/etc. as needed!
1. The First Hour

_does anyone else remember when I was like "hey I should reblog prompts and then people might send them to me and I'll write them that would be cool right?" and people sent me prompts and some of them have been in my inbox for literal months? Well I'm doing them now and I'm dumping them all into one 'story' on my fic sites but don't be fooled, this is not a continuous story; it's just prompt fills. I'm doing them in order of 'how ridiculously long they've been in my inbox' so if you sent me a prompt more recently it'll be answered later. This first one is for tumblr user vengerberg and the prompt was from a list of lines of dialogue: "Are you really going to leave without asking me the question you've been dying to ask me?" (This is set more or less immediately after the end of "The Last Wish" - the story, not the quest, and I edited the dialogue prompt slightly, but I only added a word so it still counts lol)_

 **The First Hour**

They didn't leave the ruined inn until the rain finally made its way through the rubble forming a barrier over them and started to drip down, leaving damp lines on their skin as they dressed. Yennefer had entreated Geralt to turn around—more like commanded him, actually—but he didn't listen, and she didn't complain. He had a feeling she had done it more out of habit than anything else; it was obvious enough that neither of them knew how to handle this situation. Geralt himself still couldn't quite believe he'd done it. Clearly she couldn't either.

When he finished re-fastening the belt that held his swords across his back and turned around, she was looking at him. There was something different about it, something less clinical, though he still felt awkward under her gaze as she looked him over. When she met his eyes he smiled faintly, hoping she would return it, but though her lips twitched up the slightest bit at the corners, her expression remained largely unchanged.

"So," he said after a few minutes of silence, starting to look around for a way they could feasibly get out of the wreckage they were stranded in. "What now?"

She did smile at that, albeit barely, and turned with him, pulling one of the sleeves of her blouse higher up on her arm. "Now…" She sighed and looked around in the same direction as him. They could get out through the one intact window. He would likely have to help her through it, though he didn't know whether or not she would even let him. And if she didn't want to do that, they would have to force a doorway out of the rubble. It would be easy enough for either of them. "Now we go back out there. And…"

He watched her expectantly as she trailed off, and after another moment she huffed out a breath that could've been a laugh. "I don't know," she said. "I don't know where to go from here."

"Well." He could see her picking up the scraps of the wall of indifference around her, reconstructing it brick by brick. She tried to smooth down her hair with her hand, but it sprung back into its curls almost instantly. "We should probably start with 'out of this building.'"

She pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow. It could've been entirely wishful thinking on his part, but it almost looked like she was holding back a smile. "That does seem a good place to start, doesn't it?"

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded instead, moving over to the spot where the roof had collapsed around what had been the door. If he could move enough of the debris, they would have no trouble getting out. Then they (and 'they' mostly meant 'Geralt') would have to explain to Dandelion and everyone else waiting outside how, exactly, they had survived. He didn't have the slightest idea what he would say. How could he even begin to explain a decision when he himself wasn't sure why he'd made it?

"I'll try to move some of these," he said instead of voicing this concern, deciding it was probably safer not to bring it up. He grabbed one of the collapsed beams and pulled it roughly to the side, ignoring the pain where the splintered wood dug into the burnt flesh of his palms. "See if I can clear us a path that isn't through a window." He made to duck down under another beam, to see just how blocked the doorway actually was, but the sound of her voice stopped him short.

"And that's it?" she asked, suddenly far closer than he thought she had been. On any other day, with any other woman, he would've been more acutely aware of the movements of the people around him. But on any other day he wouldn't have just fought a djinn, and this wasn't any other woman. This was her. "We'll rejoin the crowd, just like that?"

There was something of amusement in her voice and he couldn't bring himself to look at her, because if he did he would lose any desire to rejoin the world outside the collapsed inn. She waited a few moments before she spoke again, waiting for an answer that hadn't come. "Are you really going to leave here without asking me the question you've been dying to ask me?"

He was dying to ask her a million questions, and he was sure she knew every single one of them; it seemed highly unlikely to him that she would have any qualms about reading his mind. But most of them were of a sensitive nature, the kind he didn't want to broach with someone he had only just met, even considering the newfound bond they shared. He'd have to come up with something else, something that he could be reasonably sure wouldn't set her on edge, not so soon. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as he turned back to face her, struck once again at the sight of her. When she made her way over to him he rested his hands on either side of her waist without hesitation.

"I don't suppose you know the location of the nearest intact inn?"


	2. In the Shade

_wow another prompt thing! these probably won't all be up as fast as i'm posting them now, but i wanted to get moving on answering them all lol, i'm hoping that i can keep up a pace of one or two a week since these won't be like, one-shot length. this one is for a tumblr anon, and it's from the same list of dialogue prompts as the last one: "i'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention." this takes place sometime after the end of blood & wine, after geralt kills the beast and yennefer has moved into corvo bianco (the only appropriate romance ending)_

 **In the Shade**

Geralt was still having trouble getting used to the quiet—staying in one place, sleeping in the same bed under the same roof every night, walking the same grounds during the day. After he'd solved Toussaint's vampire problem things had moved so quickly; he'd barely even had time to stop and think about it. The investigation into the fifth victim, the ceremony, getting drunk in a cemetery, and then, after the dust had settled, returning to Corvo Bianco only to find her there. Yennefer. He never thought he'd see the day where she willingly ventured so far south, much less to see him. Their relationship had always consisted more of arguing than actually being happy, and even after everything that had happened in Skellige—even with the wish's hold being broken—he hadn't been sure how much would truly change.

But everything had changed about their relationship, it seemed; everything except Yennefer herself. She was still unmistakably the same: the sight of her, the coolness of her skin, her scent, none of that was different. And she continued to act as she always had, albeit on a smaller scale. A few days after her arrival, she'd asked him to move the chaise she liked so much to a shadier spot under a tree. In hindsight, he should've been glad for something to do, no matter how small a task, but when he complained about it she sighed, rolled her eyes, and levitated it over herself, staring uncomfortably at him the entire time.

No, the things that were different were the small things. How she was a bit more willing to smile fully at him, how there was never as much distance between them physically as she had insisted on putting in the past (though there were far fewer people around to see her resting her head on his shoulder or the like; the vineyard was so isolated that it had stopped being an issue in the first place). He had anticipated that she would quickly grow tired of sitting around, that she'd insist on starting some project to keep her occupied; in reality, it turned out to be the exact opposite. Geralt took on local contracts every few weeks, despite Yennefer's urging him to stay home and "not leave her to fend for herself," while she seemed content to sit under the tree, book in hand. Of course, there were still projects—she insisted on having most of the main house redone even after all the renovations he'd made prior to her arrival—but as long as she could keep an eye on things, she seemed more than happy to leave the manual labor to others.

On the days he wasn't out on a contract (which were most days), he would often sit with her, on the ground in front of where she was lounging, and rest his head against her thigh or her hip, eyes closed, breathing her in. She didn't act like she minded; on the contrary, she was clearly enjoying having him there, though she ignored him outwardly most of the time. Occasionally she would reach down and card her hand through his hair, or ghost her fingertips across his jawline, but that was a dangerous game—more often than not it would end with him pulling her down on top of him, much to the embarrassment of several workers who had had the misfortune of walking by at inopportune times, more than once. It had never bothered Yennefer at all, but Geralt felt more than a little awkward about it, so for the most part he tried to keep the displays of affection to a minimum. They were in the middle of converting the entire second floor into a master bedroom; once that was done, they would have plenty of room to be affectionate.

But those renovations wouldn't be done for another several weeks, and after returning from a particularly annoying contract involving a vintner who didn't understand the difference between arachnomorphs and regular spiders, he wanted nothing more than to be close to her, in whatever way he could be. When he'd initially gotten back to the vineyard, Yennefer had taken one look at him and insisted he take a bath before he got anywhere near her, a suggestion he agreed to readily. He did so, then wandered out to find her, in only his trousers and boots, hair pulled back—it was far too hot for much else. (Though he was beginning to get used to it, he still agreed with her initial complaints about the sun, not that he'd ever admit it to her.) She was laying in her usual spot, though instead of reading, she had her arm thrown over her eyes, shielding them from the light. He sat down in front of her, his back against the chaise, waiting for her to greet him as she normally did. Instead, she said nothing.

He briefly considered the possibility that she was asleep, but threw it out almost immediately; despite her preference for keeping a light on, she never could've done more than lightly doze in sunlight that direct. No, more than likely she was just ignoring him in favor of whatever was on her mind. (There were times that he wished the mind-reading went both ways—especially in these moments, he would want nothing more than to know what she was thinking.) Deciding to test this theory, he reached behind him and pressed his fingertip against her waist.

She didn't respond, but he knew he'd been right—he could feel her exhale just the slightest bit deeper, possibly trying to hold back a laugh. That was all the reaction he got out of her, though, so after a moment he did it again. And again. She was putting on a remarkable display of resistance, but she couldn't ignore him forever. Right?

"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention," he said, turning to face her, and she heaved out a long-suffering sigh, moving her arm so she was using it to prop herself up instead as she looked at him. Her expression was one of complete seriousness, but he could tell she was happy to see him from the way her lips were pressed together just the slightest bit too tightly. He took a nearly absurd amount of pride in it, the fact that when she was around him she had to actually try to keep from smiling.

"Well, you've got some," she said, looking him up and down. "I just hope you've got something important to— _oh_!"

She was cut off by him grabbing her other arm and pulling her down, rolling so she landed on top of him, her fingers curled over his shoulders, her hair falling in a dark curtain around him. He grinned at the exasperated look on her face as she rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth tilting up.

"Missed you," he said in response. "Got a lot to tell you about the contract I just fi—"

He stopped short when she lifted one of her hands to press a finger against his lips, effectively silencing him. She was smiling now, widely, and he felt his medallion vibrate faintly as she raised her other hand briefly, casting something. He hoped it was some sort of cloaking spell. It would certainly make things a bit less awkward for the workers. Yennefer raised an eyebrow. "You can tell me about it later," she said, and kissed him.

 _this took way longer to write than i want to admit because i don't know how to do anything that isn't at least a little bit angsty_


	3. Alone

_wow it's me (finally) back with another prompt thing; i'll try to keep the note short this time lol. this is for melasaik on tumblr, from the same dialogue list as the previous two: "when you love someone, you don't just stop. ever. even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy…even then. especially then!" and the request was for that prompt with yennefer. (wow finally something angsty aldkfjaodk.). this is basically her thoughts immediately after geralt up and left following his six-month stay in vengerberg. the prompt has been edited slightly since i added a couple extra words of dialogue, but the general spirit is the same lol -bel_

 **Alone**

She would be lying if she said she hadn't expected him to leave at some point. He hadn't exactly kept his distaste for large cities hidden, and Vengerberg was certainly that. Yennefer lived, for the most part, a fairly stationary life, and Geralt was used to being constantly on the move, traveling along the Path. She had been able to feel him getting restless for months, nearly as long as his stay here had been—because apparently that was all it was. A stay. A stop along the road.

For hours she paced back and forth around her bedroom, stopping only to throw disdainful glances at the flowers on the table, the only evidence that he had been there at all. He'd taken all his things, not that he had much to begin with, and he'd been very thorough in making sure all traces of him disappeared. It was habit, she supposed, for him to cover his tracks, but that didn't lessen the sting of the thought.

She had been stupid to believe something about him was different.

It didn't take long for the crushing weight of the loneliness to hit her—she had been alone so rarely for the past six months that her own thoughts felt foreign, her own skin. They echoed in her mind until she feared she might be sick from them, that something in her would break down completely if she so much as dared to whisper his name out loud. Still, it circled in her head, an incessant drumming to match the tempo of her anger—because that was what it became, after a few days. Pure, unfettered anger.

Triss came as soon as she heard the news, as soon as she'd received the letter that had said little more about it than 'I'm alone' and far more on other topics. She'd always known how to pick out the important information. It had bothered Yennefer for years, the way that she sometimes saw things she wasn't supposed to, things Yennefer hadn't intended for her to see, but now she was glad for it. It was already out in the open. She wouldn't have to say anything unless she wanted to—and she _wanted_ to, that much was certain. Part of her wanted to scream, to radiate her anger so strongly that he would feel it, no matter how far away he'd gotten by then.

But when the time came, and she was sitting on a rather uncomfortable chair in her kitchen while Triss made tea for them both (a skill Yennefer hadn't even known she possessed), she found she had nothing to say. Triss had been mostly quiet, but Yennefer saw the glances she kept throwing her way, full of barely-disguised curiosity and confusion, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the younger of them spoke up. But she waited until the tea was done, at least, and in those moments of blissful silence Yennefer busied herself with staring at the swirls and whorls on the wooden table as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"So." Triss set a teacup down in front of her and took a seat at the table herself, cradling her own drink carefully in her hands. "I hadn't realized it was that serious."

Yennefer watched the steam lazily drift up from the tea's surface, and even though she'd agreed to the drink when Triss offered, she suddenly found she wasn't thirsty in the slightest. In fact, her throat felt rather tight, as if she would just choke on anything she tried to swallow. "I don't think he did either." It was the truth, though a hard one—he could think whatever doting thoughts he wanted, but in the end, the rest had gotten the better of him. Others had.

Triss frowned. She'd pulled her legs up in front of her; it was a horribly improper way for her to sit at a table like this, but Yennefer was too preoccupied with her own dilemma to care. "What exactly happened? You didn't say much in your letter."

"There isn't much to tell." And even if there was, she thought, she wouldn't know where to start—was there any way for her to summarize what had truly been going on these past six months? To explain why she'd been so absent? "He was here, and now he isn't. I wish I could say what caused him to change his mind and leave, but clearly, his thoughts weren't in line with his actions." She shook her head slowly, finally reaching forward to curl her fingers around the rapidly cooling teacup. She didn't intend on drinking any of it, at least not then, but it still felt good to have some semblance of warmth in her hands.

"So he didn't say why."

It wasn't a question, but Yennefer nodded anyway. "He didn't. But based on how his so-called friends seemed to react to me initially, I can hazard a guess." Her lip curled in a combination of annoyance and disgust. She didn't want to admit how this was affecting her, though she expected Triss was a safe person to admit these things to, if there even was such a thing. "When you love someone—or _think_ you do, I suppose—you don't just stop. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy. Even then. Especially then."

There was a hoarseness to her voice that she desperately wished wasn't there, and she was sure Triss had picked up on it, but she didn't comment. "No, you don't," she agreed instead. It was comforting to hear, but still—the pain lingered in the back of her mind. They sat there until her tea went cold and she forced herself to heat it back up and drink it, more so Triss wouldn't worry about her than for any other reason, and though she didn't want to acknowledge it, she knew it would not be so easy recovering from this one.

 _sorry i only know how to write Sad Shit adljfaklfjalkf_

 _someday. someday i will get through all these prompts. until then i'm posting bullshit about my ocs on twitter lmao_


	4. Irresistible

_god some of these prompts are so old now lmao but i said i'd do all the ones in my inbox so dammit that's what i'm gonna do. this one is from amayanocturna on tumblr, off a one-word/phrase prompt list ('bite' and 'irresistible'), thank u for sending them!_

 **Irresistible**

Geralt swore as he looked down at the blood covering nearly half of his arm. He'd spent the past day trying to track down a bruxa that had been terrorizing one of Toussaint's small villages. The price to pay for saving the duchy, he'd reasoned when contracts started pouring in. At first, he hadn't minded them—if nothing else, they would fund the renovation of Corvo Bianco, which had undoubtedly seen better days when it came into his possession. But Yennefer's arrival had made all else seem unimportant by comparison, and now there was nothing more he wanted to do than to be with her, preferably in a context that _didn't_ involve fighting some greater threat for once. She had already made it quite clear upon her immediate arrival that she shared that sentiment.

But he'd already accepted the contracts, and he had a responsibility to those people. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway, even as it became more and more clear that taking on this particular job was a mistake.

It had started off no differently than any other. The beast had been easy enough to track to a small copse of trees barely a mile away from the village. His silver sword was sharp, the blade oil smoothed on before he'd left the village—and in the end, none of that had helped. A bruxa wasn't easy prey on the best of days, and he'd had to fight more than his fair share of them since arriving in Toussaint, but this fight had been particularly challenging. He was exhausted. There was no other reason for his sloppiness, there couldn't have been. No other reason why he'd walked away from the battle with the bruxa slain, but also sporting a bite on his shoulder that he wasn't sure his potions would be able to heal. He'd already downed more doses of Swallow than was technically wise, and he could tell it was already starting to have negative effects on him, to sap his strength.

Making it back to the village to collect the bounty wasn't too difficult, and he escaped from the grateful townspeople quickly, but the short ride home exhausted him. He could feel the blood dripping from the bite down his arm and back, more than there should have been. _Yennefer won't be happy about this one_ , he thought, and he was right.

When he stumbled through Corvo Bianco's front door and let it fall shut behind him with a thud, she was sitting at the table, quill and ink in front of her, seemingly in the middle of penning a letter. She looked up at the sound, though, and only a second later she was standing, walking up to him and grabbing his chin, turning his head to examine his eyes before her own gaze fell to the wound. "What is _that?_ " she said, in a tone that indicated she didn't truly expect an answer.

"A bruxa bite."

They had known each other for so long that it was easy for him to see how she'd barely managed to suppress a roll of her eyes. She started to pull at the fastenings that held his armor in place, and he helped her remove it until he was bare from the waist up, holding back any joke he might have made when he saw just how much blood streaked his arm and chest. The wound itself was still oozing blood, albeit slowly; Yennefer placed her hand over it and held herself very still as she examined it magically. The crease between her brows worried him, but it wasn't long before he felt the press of healing magic stitching the wound back together, and he relaxed. If it had been more serious, she would have said something. "I'd figured that much out," she said, and the lightness of her tone belied her annoyance. "I'm more interested in _how_ it got there."

Geralt could already feel himself relaxing as the magic did its work, stopping the blood from flowing out of the wound and knitting the flesh back together. There wasn't anything he could say that would placate her—perhaps it would be better to say nothing at all, and let her draw her own conclusions about his thoughtlessness. That's all it was, anyway. A thoughtless mistake. It was so easy to lose track of a bruxa, especially worn out as he was; if he had waited, rested up more, this might not have happened.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for a while," she said, as if reading his thoughts—which she very well might have been, though it was a habit he knew she was trying to kick. Pulling her hands away from the now-healed flesh, she picked up his discarded undershirt and used it to clean the blood from her fingers. They would need to burn it anyhow. Now clean, her hand skirted around the fresh pink line where the skin had knitted itself back together. "And perhaps next time you should pay more attention instead of putting yourself in more needless danger."

There was worry in her voice—there would always be worry, but he didn't hear the prominent anger he was expecting. Her frustration was clear, though, and he reached up and caught her chin in his fingers, ignoring the fact that later she would berate him for smearing her face with bruxa blood. "Admit it," he said, watching for the moment her lips curled up in a grin, glad to see him safe. "You can't resist me anyway."

 _wow Cheesy Last Line Alert but i really love the idea of geralt doing some dumb shit on a contract and yennefer being like 'ur an idiot' while she's patching him up and he just goes 'yeah but u love me anyway' aldfkjalkfj_

 _so i have a fancy new Writing Schedule now and it's got me working on prompts for like six days total out of the month (which doesn't sound like a lot but considering i have a million wips it definitely is lol) so i'm hoping that on those days i can do an entire prompt, so there will be some more updates here and on my badthingshappenbingo card! i'm already very behind because i've been doing some traveling so i'm trying to get caught up but if this month goes well hopefully i can keep the momentum going_


	5. Surprises

_wow it's me back at it again with another prompt (surprisingly quickly?) this is for queenmaedhbh on tumblr who requested 'happy birthday' from a one-word/phrase prompt list, specifically with an AWAL setting (this takes place about two years before the start of the fic). there's actually mention of a birthday-related thing all the way back in chapter one so i've been very excited about this for a very long time alkfjdakl –bel_

 **Surprises**

"Dandelion, there's no way that's going to work."

"Oh, nonsense!" The reply was so loud that Ciri had to pull the phone away from her ear, and even then she could still hear him far too clearly. She wasn't even sure how Dandelion had gotten ahold of this number in the first place—she'd only met the man once, well over a decade ago, and though it wasn't the most implausible thing for him to have heard of her more recent exploits, she didn't know how he'd connected her with them, and back to Geralt. But that had all been shoved to the back of her mind, in light of the ridiculous plan he'd just laid in front of her. "Who doesn't like surprises?"

"For the millionth time, _Geralt_ doesn't." Ciri sighed impatiently, looking back over her shoulder at where the Rats had parked the van. She'd walked down to the far end of the alley so as not to be overheard, and it didn't look as though anyone had yet noticed she was missing. Considering the subject of their conversation, she considered that a good thing, unless they took off without her again. That would be…less good. "You've known him for over a decade—far longer than I have—how have you not figured this out?"

The sound of Dandelion clicking his tongue was enough to make her wince, and as she was trying to find a suitable distance to hold the phone away from her ear so she could still hear him, Mistle appeared in the mouth of the alley, frantically motioning at Ciri to hurry up and finish her call so they could leave. "You're probably thinking of the wrong kind of surprises, then. The bad kind. Like the time we were in Novigrad and we saw—"

"I don't want to know what you saw." Ciri winced, even though he couldn't see her. Dandelion's stories often had a habit of venturing into far more detail than she'd ever wanted or needed. "Listen, I have to go, just—maybe think twice about this, right? I'm telling you, he's going to hate it."

She hung up before he could respond, shoving her phone in the pocket of her oversized denim jacket as she jogged to catch up to the others. She had a sinking feeling she'd be getting another call within a few days, a far more disgruntled one. Dandelion never did like to take others' advice.

~oOo~

Something was going on—of that much Geralt was certain. It wasn't just that Dandelion was acting cagey; that had become so commonplace that he barely even thought to question it anymore. No, it had more to do with the fact that Dandelion was acting cagey _and_ nobody was answering their phone. Geralt had tried calling everyone he could think of—Dandelion, Eskel, Lambert, anyone he thought might have any idea what was going on. The only one who had responded at all was Regis. Several minutes after trying to call him, Geralt received a series of texts, and after spending several minutes trying to figure out the right order to read them in on his flip phone's tiny screen, had deduced that Regis was in Toussaint and would be unlikely to contact him again anytime soon.

Geralt swallowed back his frustration as he pulled into the parking lot of the studio apartment he and Eskel were currently sharing. They had started doing so for a few months every year, usually in larger, crowded cities—in Novigrad this time—where there would be no shortage of contracts in the surrounding area. In the past, it had been a foolproof strategy, but those surefire contracts had started to dwindle as of late, and they would probably have to move on by the end of the month.

He shouldered his beat-up duffel bag and slammed the door of the truck perhaps a little louder than he'd meant to. Hopefully, it hadn't woken up any of the neighbors, who he'd learned the hard way would be quick to file a complaint about 'the witchers next door.' Frustrated as he was with their current situation, he was glad to be back as he shoved the key in the lock; he could take a shower to get all the dirt and sweat off him, then climb in bed and sleep until—

"Surprise!"

The voices echoed all around him as the lights flicked on and he blinked against their sudden harshness, but the closest one was only a few inches away from his left ear. So he did what any sensible person would do when faced with a potential intruder—turned and punched them in the face. It didn't take him long to realize his mistake.

"Oww!" wailed Dandelion, who was now on his knees, curled in on himself with his hands over his face. Geralt let his fist drop back to his side. "What was _that_ for?"

For a moment, Geralt simply stood there, looking around at all the people crammed into the tiny apartment—all the people he'd been trying to get ahold of for the past hour. No wonder none of them had responded. "A better question would be _what are you doing in my apartment?_ "

"Throwing you a surprise party!" Dandelion's voice was nasally as he stumbled to his feet, and there was blood starting to drip from between his cupped hands, and Geralt realized with a swift stab of guilt that his nose was probably broken. "It's your birthday! Everyone likes surprises!"

"Not Geralt." He redirected his gaze to the corner, where Lambert was standing, holding his phone up and looking entirely too cheerful. "Geralt _hates_ surprises."

"Well, you could have told me that earlier!"

By then the blood had started to drip down onto the carpet, and Geralt shrugged out of his hoodie and gave it to Dandelion to bunch up under his nose. When he moved his hands away, he winced at the sight. "Okay, everyone out. I have to take Dandelion to the hospital."

 _yeah that bit in the first chapter was kind of supposed to be a throwaway line but this prompt was so perfect i couldn't help myself lol. there will probably be a new actual chapter soon and also more prompts!_


	6. Dazed and Confused

_hello everyone it's time for More Prompts (and not even bingo ones this time lmao)….this one is for an anon on tumblr, from the same list as the last two – this time the word/phrase is 'tongue-tied.' the situation here is similar to the one from chapter three's prompt, but i wanted to write a scenario where triss was the one who didn't want to talk, and not yen, so this is how things ended up. it features…significantly more stuttering than is usually in my shit alfdjal –bel_

 **Dazed and Confused**

It was the silence that tipped Yennefer off.

Triss Merigold was, and always had been, a nervous talker. On the worst days, when her tension had been at an all-time high, it was nearly impossible to get her to be quiet. Yennefer herself had never been one who felt the need to fill every awkward silence with chatter, so while she typically didn't mind Triss's more eccentric habits, this one in particular had always grated on her. What was so wrong with not speaking, she would never understand—but she had her own ways of coping with things, ones she was certain were equally obnoxious to others who couldn't comprehend her methods, and so she kept her mouth shut about it for the most part. Triss knew how she felt, anyway, and repeating herself would do no one any good. Besides, it's not like she was usually hurting anyone.

That was why, when she came to visit one day and barely said a word, Yennefer knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was truly wrong.

These visits happened as frequently as they were able—when they were both in the same place long enough, and could find somewhere to meet that was fairly private. Yennefer didn't like others intruding on her business, and Triss, though she had never cared quite so much, had always acquiesced. It didn't stop her from talking though. Or, it hadn't, before then. It was made even more unusual by the fact that Triss was the one hosting this particular time around, a fact that Yennefer had noticed made her even more prone to idle chatter. So when she handed Yennefer a cup of tea and sat down at the table across from her without speaking, or even making eye contact, it immediately set Yennefer on edge.

"What's going on?" she asked without preamble, and Triss finally looked up at her then, startled. Yennefer had never been one to beat around the bush, it's true, but this was blunt even for her. And Triss…well, she looked as though she'd been caught somewhere she shouldn't be, which all but confirmed there was something she wasn't saying. Yennefer wondered if that was why she'd contacted her to arrange this meeting in the first place. It wasn't completely out of the question.

"Wh—I—what do you mean?" Triss stuttered, and Yennefer noted that the hand holding her cup was shaking ever so slightly. Another sign that something was wrong, though this one a bit less out of place; Triss had never been as good at hiding her emotions as Yennefer had become. "Yenna, there's nothing going on. I just—wanted to see you, like—like we've always done—"

Yennefer held a hand up, and Triss fell silent again, raising her cup to her lips and taking a drink to try and disguise her sudden quiet. _So that's the way it's going to be._ And here she'd thought Triss was one of the few people she could trust without placing constraints on that trust. "You've barely spoken two words to me," she pointed out, and Triss's face turned red.

"You— _you've_ barely been here for ten minutes!"

"And you'd normally be talking my ear off by now." The counterargument was smooth and unruffled, but underneath that exterior Yennefer was getting more harried by the second. What would it take to actually get an admission out of her? She usually wasn't quite this stubborn, either. "Yet you're not. And I'd like to know why. What aren't you telling me?"

There had always been a possibility, it's true, that Yennefer was incorrect—that whatever Triss was worrying about didn't have anything to do with her. But she didn't think she would be so lucky and, as it turned out, she was right. "Well, I…" She trailed off, set the cup down before her hands could resume their shaking and make it even more obvious that something was going on. "I do have something I need to talk to you about, I suppose."

"You've already made that clear." Yennefer crossed her arms, tapping one finger against the velvet sleeve of her dress. She had little patience for this kind of thing as it was, but now it ran particularly thin. "And it would be much appreciated if you'd just spit it out. I'd rather not waste my time here."

Triss nodded, and swallowed, and the sound of the shaky exhale she breathed out afterwards felt unnaturally loud in the stillness of the air around them. "It's—I—it's about Geralt."

The silence that followed her admission rang in Yennefer's ears, and she uncrossed her arms slowly, bringing one hand to rest on the table so Triss could see clearly the impatient tapping of her fingers. The fact that she seemed to zero in on the motion was a blessing, for it gave Yennefer time to compose herself, to school her expression into neutrality so she would not let slip the reins of her anger. She and Geralt had not spoken in some months now, and Triss had only met him once, in passing. Whatever she had to say, it couldn't possibly be good. "I'm sure you don't want to hear it," Triss continued, and Yennefer knew she was right.

"Oh, quite the contrary." The smile that stretched across her face was a predatory one, all teeth and no actual joy. She'd be surprised if any fragment of goodwill remained between them by the end of this exchange. "I'd _love_ to."

 _tbh this was a hard one so idk how i feel about it but anyway lol. as usual, if anyone is interested in requesting things, i'm not really taking anything from prompt lists at the moment, but my bingo card is still a thing! someday i will get caught up and start doing lists again lmao_


	7. Tears Don't Fall

_hellooooo we're finally onto the third prompt list now! this is from a list of kiss types and an anon on tumblr requested 'comforting kisses' for geralt/yen. this takes place right after the battle of kaer morhen so i'm sure we all know where this is going and i apologize in advance alkdfjalkfj -bel_

 **Tears Don't Fall**

None of the occupants of Kaer Morhen sleep the night after the battle. Everyone is at least mildly injured, too tightly wound and busy either bandaging their wounds themselves or waiting for one of their small number of mages to heal them. Before, it had seemed too much to ask for all of them to make it through relatively unscathed. Against all odds, they have—well, most of them, anyway. There are some in more pain than others, and the keep itself will need months of repairs to begin to look like its former self, especially considering the state it had already been in before the battle. But no one is thinking about those things. They're all thinking about Vesemir.

Lambert and Eskel are building the pyre. They ask Geralt if he wanted to help, and when he turns them down, they thankfully don't press him. Someone needs to keep an eye on Ciri, after all, and better he do it than anyone else. She's liable to be prickly now, to snap at anyone who tries to come too near, and he will hopefully be able to tone that down, to calm her as they keep vigil over the body. They will burn it in the morning. If Geralt never sees another pyre again, it will be too soon.

For now, though, Ciri is sitting at one of the tables in the main hall, eating and otherwise keeping to herself. Triss healed all her scrapes and bruises personally, even after Ciri insisted she was fine, so at least he doesn't have to worry about that. It will give him a bit of time alone, time to process all that has happened that day before he has to go out to the courtyards and face this. He is not ready. He does not know that he will ever be ready.

The tower where Yennefer has been staying—the one where Geralt is staying as well, as all his things have been moved there—is empty for the time being. Yennefer herself was found by Triss on the rooftop balcony where she'd planted the metal rods for the ward. She had been unconscious, Triss said, because the drain on her power was too much, but she would be fine soon. He has no doubt she'll find him once she feels well enough to, so he tries not to worry about it.

But it is hard—hard not to worry about everyone now, now that they know what's coming for them. They threw all they could muster at the Hunt, and it still wasn't enough. Even if they have time to recuperate, time to gather more allies, time to even the playing field, the odds are slim at best, and he can't get the thought out of his mind as he stumbles upstairs and sits heavy on the pile of furs that have temporarily replaced the bed. The task of holding himself up is all but impossible now, with grief weighing him down.

Did he feel this way after Stygga? In the midst of finding Ciri and Yennefer again, it's impossible to remember.

"Geralt?" He looks up at the sound of Yennefer's voice, and she's there, standing at the top of the stairs that lead to the tower. She looks uncharacteristically hesitant to approach him, and he's unsure if it's because of him or because she is still unsteady, still exhausted after all the power she had exerted earlier to keep the wards surrounding Kaer Morhen up. It could be both. He wouldn't be surprised if it was both.

He can't answer out loud; speaking is too painful, so instead he watches as she crosses the room and sinks down beside him, managing to do so far more gracefully than he had despite how tired she clearly is. She says his name again, quieter this time, and it's something about the concerned tone of her voice—not out of place here, but out of place on her, especially when there are so many other people just a long flight of stairs away—that finally manages to get to him. He cannot cry; witchers cannot, though he can't help but think that now it would be some kind of welcome relief. No, instead he lets out a shaky breath and fists his hands in the furs on either side of him, head bowed and eyes shut tight.

It is too much. All of this is too much.

"Oh, Geralt," Yennefer says again, and then her lips are on his brow, soft and cool and the only real thing in this world—the only thing it doesn't hurt to feel. She keeps them pressed there until the shaking of his hands stops, until he can loosen his fingers, and in between kisses she murmurs things to him, things that she knows will not reassure either of them, but she says them anyway. It means more that she would say them at all, especially coupled with the sweet pressure of her lips on his brow. "What do you need?" she asks, and he still can't respond, but she seems to take that as an answer anyway.

And she stays. Nothing else—no more whispered words—but her mouth at his temple, and she shifts forward so that she is pressed against his side, and though her body is cool like the air around them she is _there_ , and alive, and it is enough, at least for now. In the morning there will be a funeral, and then reality will set in; the Hunt still pursues them, and soon they will have to face them again, one final time. It is hard to think about now, with everything that has just happened. But if he could face it like this, he thinks, he would be okay.

 _anyway i started grad orientation today so things are kind of wild and will be for the next few weeks but hopefully i can get caught back up on my schedule (i'm a few days behind rn lol) and stay mostly caught up! things have been going pretty well lately so i'm hopeful aldkjfalk_


	8. The Warble of a Smitten Witcher

_so this prompt is from the same list of kiss prompts as the last one, for an anon on tumblr who requested 'first kisses' with ciri and vivienne from blood and wine! i've never seen this pairing before so this was super fun to write, thanks for sending it! -bel_

 **The Warble of a Smitten Witcher**

When Ciri finally arrived in Toussaint, she stayed for a month, but it only took her a few days to become restless. She had been moving around so often for so long that the idea of staying in one place for more than a few days at a time was foreign to her—and so she left Corvo Bianco often, traveling as far across the duchy as she dared before returning to Geralt and Yennefer. For the most part, she never stayed anywhere else overnight; the risk was too great that she would be recognized, especially here, in a place essentially run by Nilfgaard, but as the days wore on and she became more and more restless, she got back a little later every night. It wasn't uncommon, eventually, for her to make it as far as the outskirts of Beauclair before she forced herself to turn back.

Most days, though, she forced herself not to roam much farther than the now-defunct tourney grounds, and it was on one of those days that she came across the clearing—a little place so idyllic she could hardly believe, even in Toussaint, that she had stumbled across it. She had been engaged in battle with a giant centipede that had somehow gotten separated from the others it must have been traveling with—she had never known them to travel alone, nor had Geralt—and was just thinking about how she would love nothing more than to find a place to wash the blood off herself.

The place was like a dream. The woman she saw there was, too.

She hadn't expected anyone else to be in the clearing any more than she had expected to find it in the first place, and she stepped back into the tree line, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the small, startled sound that had escaped her. The woman was blonde, pale, dressed more simply than anyone else from Toussaint that Ciri had seen, and sitting on the edge of a small pond, trailing her fingers over the water's edge. As Ciri was watching, though, she stiffened and turned, almost as if she had sensed her presence even though she had tried to hard not to disturb.

"Who's there?" she called, but Ciri was already gone.

~oOo~

She went back the next day, but found—with a strange emotion that mixed relief and disappointment—that the clearing was empty. There was some good in that, she supposed; she wouldn't have even known what to say to the woman, anyway, considering that as of late she had only spent any large amount of time with Geralt and Yennefer. Chances were too good that she would let something slip. Still, as she took a seat near the edge of the pond and began to divest herself of her swords, she admitted to herself that it would have been nice to have the company.

As it was, she was not alone for long.

The swords had been carefully removed from her back and laid on the ground, still in their scabbards, when she heard it—the cracking of a branch underfoot. She whipped around so quickly that it took a moment for her to locate the source of the noise, and there she was. Ciri was certain it was the same woman; she had a face that one would not easily forget.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she asked, the suspicion in her tone bordering on an outright accusation, and her gaze darted from Ciri to the pond to the swords lying on the ground. Her eyes widened when they reached that point, and Ciri scrambled to her feet awkwardly, putting the blades out of arm's reach.

"I'm—" She hesitated. This was a Nilfgaardian province; perhaps it would be for the best if she did not give out her real name. "I'm sorry," she said instead, holding her hands up by her head. If she was lucky, she might be able to get away with giving no name at all. "I can—I can just…go. If you want. I'm just going to—" She reached down and picked up the swords, fastening the scabbards over her back. As she stuttered, fumbling with the movements, the woman's expression changed first to one of confusion, then something like amusement.

"You do not have to leave," she said. "Truth be told, I would not mind the company." She eyed the hilts of the swords sticking up behind Ciri's back. "Though if you're going to stay, I would rather you took those off again."

~oOo~

The woman's name was Vivienne, and soon enough they saw each other every evening. Ciri began to make a point of stopping by the clearing on her way back from wherever she had chosen to roam that day, even if it meant going out of the way in order to do so. Some days, on the rare occasion that she did not leave Corvo Bianco at all, she would still make up some excuse to slip out, though she was certain by now that Geralt and Yennefer knew something was going on. They never asked, though, and she was grateful for it. Besides, all the two of them did was talk—until the time they didn't.

That evening had been the same as any other. Ciri had come to the conclusion that the both of them were talking around things they would much rather avoid—large things, secrets that would change the way the other saw them—and she had also realized that she didn't much mind. There was a sort of understanding between them, one that they hadn't spoken but was known to them both anyway. There were plenty of more immediate things to discuss, no shortage of safer topics, and so they stuck to those instead.

They had been talking about the most recent tourney that had been held at the tournament grounds when the kiss happened. She could tell that Vivienne was becoming uncomfortable with the subject, and so she fell quiet, casting her eyes around the clearing and trying to think of a way to change it. She hadn't seen Vivienne move—later she would berate herself for it. What kind of witcher would she be if she couldn't even see someone leaning in for a kiss? Not a very good one. But at that moment, it didn't seem to matter.

Ciri turned her head back, and their lips met, and the kiss was soft and brief and entirely too surprising. They pulled back only a few inches from each other. Ciri's hand was tense, fingers digging into the ground. "Oh," she said, and immediately felt all the more ridiculous for saying it when Vivienne's hand came up to cover her mouth as she laughed. Her smile was warm when she lowered it though, and Ciri got the sense that she had been laughing _with_ her, and she felt lighter than she had in months.

"Oh, indeed," she said, and kissed her again.

 _ok i...kinda want to write more of this now alkdfjalkfjak, maybe when i'm done with all the other prompts i'll come back to this? i love rarepairs lmao_


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